


stars, hide your fires

by orphan_account



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-12-04 13:42:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11556384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: If anything, Veronica is a little impressed. “So, are you going to tell me your name?” she finally asks, arms falling to her sides. “Or should I just keep referring to you as Diner Boy in my head?”“Diner Boy?” he echoes derisively. “You’re just filled with creativity, aren’t you?”Before Veronica can reply, he tips back in his seat, crosses his arms, regards her pensively. “As for my name,” he starts slowly, like he’s just come to a decision, “I think you’ll have to figure that out for yourself.”There’s a beat of silence while Veronica surveys him, searching for any signs of humor or malice. When she finds none, she nods. “Fine,” she says, dropping into the seat across him. “Challenge accepted.”





	1. this must be the place

The rental car pulls away from the curb, and Veronica looks on as the New York skyline slowly sinks into the dusk, the beloved city that she had called home for fifteen years disappearing in strokes alongside the fading sun.

She sits nestled into the backseat as they weave their way through familiar streets, legs crossed together primly and arms folded over her lap, like she’s still got an appearance to make, a show to put on. Everything had happened so fast, with the court appearances and the trial and the endless interviews in front of prying, critical eyes, and now that she finally has a chance to catch her breath, she’s surprised to feel nothing.

She sucks in a breath, waits for the anger or the regret or the weary resignation to settle in, but all she registers is the dull pounding of her own heart, and a hollow, carved out space just underneath her ribcage that reminds her that maybe she does have something to prove after all.

“It’ll be a chance for a fresh start, _mija_ ,” her mom tells her, breaking the tense atmosphere. Veronica thinks the words would have more of an effect on her if it wasn’t also the hundredth time she’s heard them. “For the both of us.”

“I know, Mom,” Veronica says, parroting her usual response back to her. In a sense, it’s become almost like a game of charades, a test to see how long the Lodge women can keep up the pretense of their wealth, their entitlement. Even to each other. “I guess anywhere has to be better than New York right now.”

“The people in Riverdale…” Hermione trails off, blows out a sigh as her gaze clouds over with the long-forgotten memories of a past Veronica can’t see. “They’re different from the people in the city. But every town has its secrets.”

“I’m sorry, are we moving to Riverdale or Twin Peaks?” Veronica quips, eyebrows rising at her mom’s vague insinuation. “Has anyone mysteriously died recently?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” Hermione replies, straight-faced. There’s a pause, and then the two of them break out into giggles. “Well, you’ll see what I mean. It might be a good place for you to make some new friends. Maybe even meet someone?”

“Ugh,” Veronica says in the face of her mom’s knowing smirk. She has no idea what small-town boys look like, but after years of fending off New York’s best and the brightest, she’s not exactly thrilled at the prospect.

Her mom leans forward to speak with the driver, and right on cue, Veronica’s phone signals a new notification. In the height of her notoriety, it wasn’t uncommon for her to have a Google alert set on her name, if only to see which lifestyle blogs she had made it onto.

This time around, she keeps the alert on as a sort of reminder, a warning against falling into past habits. In the immediate aftermath of her father’s arrest, her phone had been sounding off so frequently, she was almost afraid that it would fall apart.

The notice is for two comments left on a gossip website article, published just two hours ago. Now that the dust has finally settled, the major news outlets have moved on to more important matters, leaving the fringes of cyberspace to pick up the slack.

The headline, _Lodge Women Flee the City_ , is spelled out in bold, clear letters that are impossible to miss. Veronica skims through the piece, listless and detached, reading the all-too-familiar insults being written about her: spoiled socialite, ice queen supreme, rich, entitled bitch.

It isn’t until she gets to the comments section that she feels something stir within her.

 **Kelsey** , Chicago, Illinois, 2 minutes ago  
serves them right, the selfish hypocrites. they’ll get what’s coming to them.

 **Miranda S** , New York, New York, 5 minutes ago  
I went to school with Veronica Lodge, and let me tell you, she was the biggest bitch I have ever met. Can’t hide behind your money now, can you?

She reads the last line again and winces. Miranda Smith had been in Veronica’s ninth grade history class, and during last year’s Spring Fling after-party, Veronica had hooked up with her boyfriend, Chase Morton.

She thinks back on it now, remembers Miranda walking in on them in the hall closet, turning to face Veronica with such outright _hate_ in her gaze, she was surprised she hadn’t been eviscerated on the spot.

“You’re a bitch,” Miranda spat at her, eyes slowly filling with tears, as Chase scrambled away from Veronica, his hair mussed. “You’re a cold-hearted bitch. You’ll never mean anything to anyone. I hope you—”

“Are you done?” Veronica had cut in, her hand shaking as she pretended to inspect her manicure, like Miranda’s words hadn’t struck a chord within her. “Because we were sort of in the middle of something,” she added cooly, and Miranda stormed off.

The cold, stark truth is, Veronica had been exactly the kind of girl all the trolls accuse her of being. She burned bridges and caused rifts and destroyed relationships just because she could, and then she retreated behind her power and prestige like it was nothing, always cool as ice, unshakeable.

Now that the money is gone, all that’s left are the bare bones of whatever remains of her former self, still ice cold, but with the lingering desire to thaw, to find a way to make up for everything she’s done.

Veronica watches as skyscrapers turn into trees and the sky darkens from varying shades of blue to pitch black, the sun finally dipping into the horizon, stars coming out to take its place. She moves further away from her old life, letting the growing distance define who she wants to be.

Hermione’s voice filters into the silence. “You’ll try, won’t you, _mija_?” 

“Yeah, Mom,” Veronica says, her phone burning a hole into her back pocket, the image of Miranda Smith still imprinted inside her head. “I’ll try.”

—

The Pembrooke is barely the size of the Dakota back in New York, where her family had three entire floors to themselves and she often shared an elevator with Yoko Ono. But it’s classy all the same, its facade reminiscent of her former home, and it’s enough to ease the tension in her chest a little.

She’s introduced to Smithers, her mom’s old butler, and when he offers to get them both takeout menus, Hermione turns to her, grins. “What do you say? Should we have Chinese like we used to?”

Veronica steels her resolve, nods. “Only if you order extra fortune cookies,” she says, and Hermione laughs, follows Smithers into the kitchen to make the call.

They eat cross-legged on the sofa, facing each other as they dig into paper cartons filled with all their old favorites. Hermione heads to bed straight after, claiming exhaustion from the long drive over, and she drops a kiss on her forehead as she goes, says, “I’m proud of you, Veronica.”

In the ensuing silence, Veronica listens to the clock overhead tick, the streets outside too quiet and too empty in a way it never is in The City That Never Sleeps. She’s restless all of a sudden, feels an untapped energy somewhere inside her that won’t settle down.

The minutes stretch on and her claustrophobia grows, trapped in a facsimile of her previous apartment, its peach walls and neutral tones almost cloying in a sense. She finally snaps and slips out into the night, street lamps casting an eerie glow along the darkened road. 

Veronica rounds a corner and finds herself standing in front of a small diner called Pop’s Chock’lit Shoppe. The neon sign overhead is bright and practically blinding, but there’s something about it that reminds her of Times Square, of the shadier, more nuanced elements of New York, and this is ultimately what piques her interest enough to walk inside.

The lights inside are harsh and unforgiving, and they stand in sharp contrast with the shades of orange and pink from the outside. The clock over the counter tells her that it’s six minutes past eleven, and she looks around, taking in the construction workers crammed into a booth, huddled over mugs of steaming coffee.

“Hey, what can I get for you?” someone calls out to her, and she spins around and comes face to face with who she assumes is Pop himself, as he leans out of a window near the back of the shop.

“Oh, um.” Veronica wracks her brain, her mind going blank with uncharacteristic uncertainty as she tries to come up with a suitable excuse for wandering into a diner on the last night of the summer, so out of place in a town where everyone knows everyone. “How are the burgers here?”

“They’re the best,” another voice chimes in, and she swivels to her right, trying to locate the sound. There’s a boy sitting alone in one of the booths nearest the back, an open laptop in front of him. “But you must be new here, otherwise you would have known that.”

She inclines her head in his direction. “I’ll have a burger, then,” she tells Pop, then she wanders over to the mysterious stranger.

He looks about her age, dark hair spilling out of what appears to be a gray beanie shaped like a crown. The cheerleader inside her zeroes in on his clothes, noting the holes in his jeans and the way he seems to be wearing suspenders in a manner that is not at all ironic. 

He’s also staring at her, watching her with a laser-sharp focus, and it occurs to Veronica that he might actually be doing exactly what she had been doing to him, taking her apart and putting her back together in his mind in an attempt to understand.

“Thanks,” she says, flips her hair. “I’m Veronica. My mom and I just moved here from New York.”

“Didn’t really ask, but okay,” he responds, bored. The expression on his face is carefully blank, and she doesn’t think anyone has ever regarded her with such blatant casualness before. 

It causes something to flicker within her. “I was just being polite,” she says, puts a hand on her hip and rolls her eyes to the ceiling, like she can’t believe she just wasted this much energy on him. 

“Save your social cues for the big city socialites, princess,” he drawls, but she swears his lips quirk upwards ever so slightly. “What’s with the cape?” he asks, turning the tables on her. “It’s a little too early for Comic-Con, don’t you think?”

Veronica fingers the fabric of her garment self-consciously, mostly because she has a feeling this guy would be completely uninterested in the fact that it was a gift from Marc Jacobs himself, a token of his appreciation after Veronica saved him from spilling champagne on his suede boots at the last Fashion Week.

Being Veronica Lodge, she does the only thing she knows how. “At least I’m not dressed as the fourth runner-up of a James Dean costume contest,” she counters, as if standing in the middle of an empty diner, arguing with a total stranger, is completely normal.

“ _Fourth_ runner-up?” Diner Boy says with an exaggerated wince. “I’m so hurt, truly. Take that back, Maleficent.” 

If anything, Veronica is a little impressed. “So, are you going to tell me your name?” she finally asks, arms falling to her sides. “Or should I just keep referring to you as Diner Boy in my head?”

“Diner Boy?” he echoes derisively. “You’re just filled with creativity, aren’t you?”

Before Veronica can reply, he tips back in his seat, crosses his arms, regards her pensively. “As for my name,” he starts slowly, like he’s just come to a decision, “I think you’ll have to figure that out for yourself.”

There’s a beat of silence while Veronica surveys him, searching for any signs of humor or malice. When she finds none, she nods. “Fine,” she says, dropping into the seat across him. “Challenge accepted.”

Diner Boy’s eyebrows rise in genuine disbelief when Veronica actually agrees to his ridiculous proposal, but whatever else he’s going to to say is cut off by Pop returning with a plate, sliding it onto the table. She doesn’t miss the way Diner Boy’s eyes dart down to the burger sitting between them as he does.

“Help yourself,” she says, gesturing at the plate in front of her. “But on one condition,” she adds, holding a hand up to stop him.

His mouth twists into a wry smile. “You want a hint.”

“Just one,” Veronica assures him, nodding. “The rest I’ll have to uncover for myself.”

“Two Js,” he supplies automatically. Then he reaches out and pulls the dish towards him before she can so much as react. “That’s all you’re getting for now.”

“Fair enough, Jacob Jameson,” she tries, and he rolls his eyes at her, returns his attention to the burger and tucks into it like he hasn’t eaten in days. The sight doesn’t repulse her nearly as much as it would have in the past, which is certifiable proof that this town is slowly driving her insane.

JJ’s voice breaks into her internal monologue. “You don’t think much of Riverdale,” he says, and it isn’t a question.

For a second, she wonders how he could have known, how much she’s already given away. Then she remembers that she’s Veronica Lodge; self-control is second nature to her and staying composed is an art form she’s honed over time.

“No, no, I’m sure this place has its charms,” Veronica replies smoothly, years of putting on a front for everyone else kicking in like a reflex. “It’s very quaint,” she adds unnecessarily after an awkward pause.

He snorts. “Bullshit,” he says, and he almost looks amused. “I have eyes, you know. You’re lying. It’s written all over your face.”

“Okay, fine,” Veronica concedes, throws her hands in the air. She can’t help but feel slightly unraveled at the way he sees right through her. “I’m filled with dread. Seriously, though, this town is straight out of _In Cold Blood_. Can you really blame me?”

“And you’re straight out of _Breakfast at Tiffany’s_ ,” JJ replies without missing a beat. 

But there’s something underneath the expression on his features, his mouth teetering on the edge of a smile, that tells Veronica she’s passed some kind of test. He’s not the only one who can read people after all.

She’s proven right a minute later when he leans forward in his seat, looks at her thoughtfully. “What are your thoughts on Darren Aronofsky?”

The slight curl to his lips, the flash of fire in his glance, as if goading her to try him. Everything about him reads like a dare, a bet, and if there’s one thing Lodge women do not do, it’s go down without a fight.

Veronica matches his even stare with one of her own, squares her shoulders. “I think he’s losing his artistic touch by moving into more mainstream techniques,” she says, and JJ narrows his eyes.

And then they’re off.

—

They talk, but mostly they argue.

He calls her an entitled heiress and she calls him a lonely drifter. He shoots her glares from across the table and she kicks his shin with the tip of her heel, the crackle of electricity from the intensity of their debate a slow, gradual burning in the middle of such a dull room.

“Typical,” Veronica scoffs, folds her arms on top of the table. “You men have all these opinions on romance in Fitzgerald and Kerouac novels, but God forbid you read a book like _Pride and Prejudice_.”

“Hey, I read plenty of Austen,” JJ responds, holding his hands up defensively. “I’m just saying that not every good love story needs snarky lead characters who live in denial of their feelings.”

“Because I’m so sure you’d prefer a love-at-first-sight saga straight out of a Nicholas Sparks novel,” Veronica retaliates. “I didn’t peg you for the shallow type.”

“You can’t tell me I’m shallow when your favorite Tarantino movie is _Inglorious Basterds_ ,” JJ says, shuddering like the film’s title is a particularly dirty curse word. “It’s got Brad Pitt in it.”

“You are ridiculous,” Veronica tells him with feeling. Somehow, it’s not as much of an insult as it would have been before.

“Maybe,” he allows, shrugs. “But you also sat here and argued with me for over three hours, so what does that make you?”

“Three hours?” Veronica repeats, confused. She turns to the left and checks the clock hanging on the opposite wall. “Time flies when you’re schooling the uncultured,” she quips, and JJ snorts. “I better go. I’m supposed to meet my peer mentor before school tomorrow.”

“Ah, your official introduction to the complexities of student life at Riverdale High,” JJ drawls, and Veronica has to fight down a laugh. “Welcome to public school.”

She slides out of her seat, smooths down the dress she has on. “I’ll see you around, Jeffrey Jackson.”

“Nice try,” JJ says, already pulling his laptop back in front of him. He looks up at her one last time from behind his computer, the light from the screen illuminating his smirk. “I’ll be around.”

Veronica steps back into the blanketing darkness, tries to retrace her path back home, and it’s only when she edges the front door open and creeps into her new bedroom does it occur to her that she hadn’t checked her phone once.

—

Betty Cooper has to be the nicest and most genuine person Veronica has ever met. Everything from her blonde hair, neatly scraped back into a ponytail, to her bright, friendly smile has Veronica thinking of warm, golden sunshine, even as she enters the dim, crowded halls of Riverdale High.

She’s a little charmed by Betty’s initial attempts at taking her job of peer mentor seriously, but when Betty starts trying to delve into the school’s history, Veronica senses herself losing interest in the cracked linoleum floors and fluorescent lighting. She scans the corridor, takes in the steady stream of students walking near them.

If she’s also looking out for a head of dark hair underneath a gray beanie, she keeps that to herself.

“So, what’s the social scene like here?” Veronica interrupts, eager to engage Betty in a conversation that doesn’t revolve around her new school. “Any night clubs?” she tacks on, though from the slight twist to Betty’s mouth, she doubts she’s going to find anything like the Electric Room.

Her salvation comes in the form of a tall boy in a tight sweater, and even as he lays out the sad reality of the nightlife in a small town, it’s nothing less than Veronica expected.

“Veronica Lodge, Kevin Keller,” Betty says, politely making the introductions. “Veronica’s new here,” she informs him, a little unnecessarily. She turns back to Veronica. “Kevin is—”

“Gay?” Veronica finishes for her, a grin spreading across her face. She thinks fondly of Simon, her Best Gay back in New York, and her hopes rise ever so slightly. For his own part, Kevin seems just as interested. “Let’s be best friends.”

Then he follows her statement up with, “Is it true what they say about your dad?” and Veronica’s expression falls.

She figures she shouldn’t be as embarrassed as she is, considering her father’s arrest had made international news, but she’d hoped all the same that this town where nothing ever happens would be her chance to start anew, a clean break in a place where no one knows her name.

One look at Kevin’s eager gaze and Betty’s awkward, slightly guilty shrug tells her that’s not going to happen. “Wonderful,” she sighs, throwing her hands in the air. “Ten minutes in and I’m already the _Blue Jasmine_ of Riverdale High.”

It’s while they’re walking along another corridor, heading towards the gym where everyone is gathering for the assembly, that Veronica spots him. She notices the messy red hair, the muscles rippling underneath his sweater, and she can’t help but think, _Score one for the small-town boys_.

“Who is that?” she asks, turning to Betty, and one glance at the creases around the corners of Betty’s eyes, the slight flush to her cheeks, tells Veronica all she needs to know.

“Archie Andrews,” Kevin supplies automatically, a hint of a sigh lingering in his tone. “Once formerly just the boy-next-door, but you know what they say about puberty. When it hits, it hits hard.”

“Is he your boyfriend?” Veronica adds, raises her eyebrows in appreciation of the thin fabric of Archie’s top.

Betty returns to herself and shakes her head. “What? No, no, we’re just friends,” she says, but her smile is a fraction more forced than it had been before. “We’ve lived next door to each other our whole lives.”

But there’s something in the way Betty’s watching her, with a slight pursing of her lips and a tightening of her eyes, casting apprehensive, almost fearful glances at the boy standing down the hall, that lets Veronica understand exactly what she’s worried about, and what she stands to lose if she decides to go down that road.

The old Veronica wouldn’t even have hesitated. The old Veronica would have marched right over to him and flicked her hair out, touched his arm enough to be coy, would have done every trick in the book to catch him hook, line, and sinker, and she would have looked back on the wake of destruction she’d left behind and laugh.

“Too bad. I prefer guys with dark hair,” she says, shrugs blithely, and an unbidden image of JJ, her mysterious stranger, swims into the forefront of her mind. From her peripheral, she sees Betty exhale in relief. “You should ask him to the semi-formal, then.”

“She should,” Kevin says with a decisive nod. “But I heard it might be getting canceled because of what happened to Jason. They’re gonna tell us at the assembly.”

Veronica stops in her tracks, puts one hand on her hip. “Who is Jason and what happened to him?”

—

What happened to Jason turns out to be death.

The entire student body sits crammed onto the bleachers, and Veronica barely registers anything the redhead dressed in mourning attire is saying into the microphone. Betty watches the whole exchange a little tensely, her hands clamped together.

She cranes her neck back as far as she can, but there’s still no sign of the boy from the diner. Idly, she wonders if maybe she had imagined the entire thing, if their night together had been some kind of fever dream conjured up in response to adjusting to small-town living.

The morning drags on, and once it’s finally over, she and Betty join the crush of students moving towards the exit, eager to make the most out of their lunch break. 

“Well, that was grim,” Veronica says loudly, and several people turn to stare at her. “Is it just me, or is Jason’s sister a little _too_ fond of him?”

“The Blossoms have always been very…close,” Betty acknowledges, which Veronica already knows is the closest Betty will get to saying anything bad about anyone, so she takes it.

“Speaking of people in this school,” Veronica starts slowly, “do you happen to know a guy who might go here? He’s got dark hair, fond of plaid, like Riverdale’s very own Dan Humphrey?”

Betty stares at her blankly and Veronica cringes. When did she become so incapable of describing anything without the use of a pop culture reference? 

“Forget it,” she says, shaking her head, and her phone chimes. “Hey, you go on ahead,” she tells Betty, hanging back. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

“Everything alright?” Betty asks her, eyebrows knitting together in concern. God bless Betty Cooper.

“Totally,” Veronica replies, shooting her an artificial smile. If Betty picks up on the sudden bout of faux cheer, she doesn’t say anything. “I just need to freshen up before lunch,” she adds off-handedly. “All this humidity is making my skin dry.”

Betty sends her a puzzled glance, but doesn’t push the issue further, much to Veronica’s relief. “Okay, I’ll save you a seat,” she says, smiles warmly, then turns around and makes her way down the steps, disappearing into the sunlight.

Once she’s alone, Veronica ducks into the nearest girl’s bathroom, hurries into an empty cubicle and locks the door behind her. She presses her back against the grimy wall, her hands shaking as she digs into her bag and pulls out her phone.

She’s trending on Twitter again, and in the past, she would have reveled in the attention, in the admiration and the envy she received from strangers all over the globe. Now, the notice alerts her to the hashtag #DownWithLodge that’s making the rounds. 

**Ivee Turner** @poisonivee  
My dad lost his job because of Hiram Lodge. #DownWithLodge

 **Stanley Suarez** @suareezy  
the lodges are everything wrong w the world #DownWithLodge

 **Phyllis Campbell** @pbcampbell  
I hope they burn in hell for what they did #DownWithLodge

She keeps going, scrolling through the tag as people continue to spew hate at her dad, her mom, every aspect of her life. There are the usual insults being written about her, of course, but what had started to numb her suddenly returns in full force, a tightening in her gut that serves as a permanent reminder of who she had been.

When she’s had her fill, she shoves her phone back into her bag and rests her head against the tile, closes her eyes and tries to calm the erratic beating of her heart. Then she straightens up, takes a deep breath, and prepares to rejoin the real world.

The halls are devoid of all people when she finally steps out, everyone unwilling to stay cooped up on such a nice day. She picks up her lunch tray from a table at the far end of the lawn and spends a good amount of time wandering through the tables, trying to locate a familiar face.

She finally spots Betty, Kevin, and Archie huddled over a computer, the faint strains of folk music swirling into the air all around them. Betty notices her first and waves her over, and Veronica carefully picks her way through the damp grass as she walks towards their little group.

“Can I join?” she asks brightly, and Archie jerks his head upwards to look at her in confusion. “I’m Veronica Lodge,” she tells him, sliding into the empty space next to Kevin.

“Archie,” he says, flashing her a killer smile. “Archie Andrews.”

“Nice to meet you, Archie,” she tells him, inclining her head slightly. “What are we doing?” she asks, directing her question at the rest of the group.

“Listening to one of Archie’s songs,” Kevin says to her. “I thought we were going to have to pretend to like it, but it’s actually really good.”

“Wait, that was you singing?” Veronica asks him, lifting an eyebrow in surprise. She’s actually impressed. “Something you wrote?”

“It’s rough,” Archie replies automatically, ducking his head down to stare at the table, and Veronica’s never seen anything more endearing.

“No, it’s great,” Betty says firmly, speaking up for the first time, and the grateful little smile Archie sends her way, like her opinion is the only one that truly matters to him, has Veronica plotting out ways to get the two of them together.

Unfortunately, her half-formed schemes are brought to a screeching halt by Archie announcing that he’s off to football tryouts, and Veronica turns to look at Betty as he gets up to leave, her eyes wide and meaningful. 

Once Archie is out of earshot, Kevin tilts forward. “Before you ask, _Blue Jasmine_ , no, she has not invited him to the dance yet.”

“Not yet,” Betty sighs, shaking her head. Then she notices something behind Veronica and her expression grows panicked. “And don’t talk about Archie,” she hisses.

Before Veronica can ask her what she’s talking about, she’s interrupted by the arrival of another vital character in her new life, when she hears an unfamiliar voice from beside her go, “Veronica Lodge, I’d heard whisperings,” and she’s introduced to Cheryl Blossom.

Here’s a confession: the first time Veronica talks to Cheryl, she has to try her best not to laugh.

Cheryl walks around with the same manner of entitlement that Veronica had breathed like air for the first fifteen years of her life, but she also speaks in platitudes with a permanent smile on her face that borders on the edge of a scowl, and she’s got to be the most unreal person Veronica’s met so far.

But when Cheryl brings up cheerleading, Veronica lights up despite herself. “At Spence I sat at the top of the Elites’ pyramid,” she says, leaving out the fact that the reason behind her position was because the rest of the team was too afraid of her. “I’m in.” 

Her gaze lands on Betty, sitting silently to one side of the table, and she thinks of Archie out on the football field, of the common trope of jock and cheerleader, and inspiration hits. “Betty, you’re trying out, too,” she says, and Betty snaps her head up to stare at her in shock.

If anything, the obvious disapproval in Cheryl’s expression makes Veronica grin wider. “Of course, anyone is welcome to try out,” she says through clenched teeth, and it occurs to Veronica that Betty’s obvious disdain for the Blossom family may not be an entirely one-sided feud.

God, this place is weird.

Cheryl finally flounces away in a flurry of expensive perfume, tossing her bright hair over her shoulder, and Veronica faces her two friends in disbelief. “Is she always like that?”

“Believe it or not, I think she’s gotten worse ever since her brother died,” Kevin whispers conspiratorially, as if Cheryl’s minions might be lurking somewhere nearby. “It’s like she’s trying to win Best Supporting Psycho Oscar for her role as Riverdale High’s bereaved Red Widow.”

Veronica giggles, rolls her eyes. “Sorry I kind of roped you into going with me,” she says, returning her attention to Betty. “But if Archie’s going to be out there on the football field, you can’t be cheering him on from the bleachers.”

“I would love to be a cheerleader,” Betty says, sincerity dripping from her voice, and for the first time, Veronica feels like she’s finally done something right.

—

Later that night, too wired on the day’s events to sleep, Veronica leans back against her new pillows, toys with the phone in her hand. 

It’s dark out, the time stamp at the top of her home screen letting her know that it’s six minutes past eleven. With a jolt to her spine, she thinks back on the past twenty-four hours, thinks about sitting in a dimly lit diner, arguing with the most infuriating person she’s ever met, while the hours slipped past her like sand running through her fingers.

She wonders if he’s there again, with his open laptop on the table in front of him and his dark, dark hair peeking out of the gray mess of fabric on his head. She wonders what he’d do if she walked into Pop’s now, if he’d smirk at her, one corner of his mouth curving upwards, while the light behind his eyes springs to life.

Her cellphone beeps, signalling another alert. Suddenly inspired, Veronica swiftly shuts it down, instead pulling up a website for popular baby names. She scrolls through the lists under J and files some of the more promising ones away for further use. But as the suggestions grow more ridiculous the longer she looks, she thinks maybe this is her chance to have a bit of fun.

Assuming she ever sees him again, that is.

She’s totally unprepared for the unpleasant sensation that curls into her gut, for how _unsettled_ she is by the prospect of never seeing him again, a boy whose name she doesn’t know, who a week ago wouldn’t even be considered _close_ to her type, when the boy that _should_ be on her mind, Archie, the redheaded Adonis, hasn’t crossed it once.

It’s official: Riverdale is driving her crazy.

Still, she tells herself, in a town this small, she’s bound to run into him sooner or later. She shuts her phone off, settles back into her bed, lets her eyes drift shut.

As far as first days go, she supposes it could have been worse. She can’t wait to see what the rest of the week will bring.


	2. new person, same old mistakes

Cheerleading tryouts are held after school, and Betty and Veronica spend half an hour in the locker room going over their routine, while Betty tries not to panic and Veronica tries to keep her new friend from falling apart, even as Cheryl tears the new recruits to shreds.

Once they’re done, Cheryl demands more heat and sizzle, and Veronica has no idea why she does what she does.

“Don’t freak out,” she whispers, and she can’t help but notice that Betty’s eyes are extremely green, even when they’re open wide with fear and apprehension. “Just trust me,” she adds, and she feels Betty yield in her arms.

Betty’s lips are impossibly soft and her hair smells like strawberry shampoo. The two of them break apart and Veronica notices a smear of her pink lipgloss lingering on Betty’s mouth. “You don’t taste like cherry chapstick at all,” she says with a grin. “Katy Perry lied to me.”

Cheryl’s droll tone cuts into their conversation. “Check your sell-by date, ladies,” she says, faking a yawn, “faux lesbian kissing hasn’t been taboo since nineteen ninety-four.” She crosses her legs. “So let’s see if you do better with the interview portion of our audition.”

She asks Veronica all of two questions before moving on to Betty, and the glint in her eye can only be described as malicious. “Betty, how’s your sister doing?” Cheryl starts, and Veronica sees Betty swallow tightly.

She keeps at it, forces Betty to tell Veronica all about her sister, Polly, and her brief relationship with Jason, and it isn’t until Veronica notices Betty digging her nails into her palms hard enough to draw blood does something in Veronica snap.

It’s at that moment that she realizes that Betty Cooper isn’t perfect, not even close. She reaches out, grabs onto Betty’s arm to calm her down, and she reflects on her own bad habit of letting other people’s vile hate bleed into her thoughts and actions, all the while wondering how they can mistake her for an ice princess when sometimes she feels so close to shattering herself.

Everyone’s got their own forms of self-sabotage, their own ways of putting up walls so that no one will ever figure them out, and she can see Cheryl Blossom’s staring her right in the face.

“I know what you need, Cheryl, because I know who you are,” Veronica says, and the entire room goes deathly still. “You’re scared, no, you’re _terrified_ that everyone will figure out that you have no idea what you’re doing. That this whole terror and intimidation act you’ve got going for you is just that, an act. But I’m living proof that false bravados never last. So I’d maybe think about being a little nicer, Cherrybombshell. We’re the same, you and I, so you can either be with me, or you can go against me. But I’d hate to make an arch-nemesis this early in the game.”

Cheryl blinks, for once at a complete loss for words. “Betty, welcome to the River Vixens,” she says, and Veronica squeals in delight. “I will see you both at practice tomorrow, four o’clock sharp. You can pick up your uniforms at the door.” 

She gets to her feet, her two minions trailing behind her, but at the last second, she pauses, turns back. “Veronica,” she says sharply, and Veronica jerks her head around, lifts an eyebrow. “Thanks.”

The second she leaves, Betty lets out a long exhale. “That was—I can’t believe you did that,” she mumbles, still looking a little shell-shocked. “ _Why_ did you do that?”

“Think nothing of it,” Veronica says dismissively, ignoring her second question. She tugs on Betty’s hand, pulling her in the direction of the stack of fabric lying near the double doors. “Come on, let’s go break in our new gear.”

—

“Seriously, why did you do that?” Betty asks her again.

They’re making their way out of the school grounds, taking a shortcut through the running track that encircles the football field. Betty keeps tugging uncertainly at the hemline of her brand new cheerleading uniform, as if she’s checking to make sure it’s really there.

“I mean,” Betty continues, blows out a sigh, “it’s not like it matters what clothes I have on.” She spreads her hands out helplessly. “I doubt Archie will even notice.”

“Betty, you, of all people, should be the Queen Bey of this drab hive,” Veronica replies, gesturing at her. “You’re a River Vixen now. Have some confidence in yourself, girl.”

Betty shakes her head slowly. “I don’t understand,” she says. “Why are you being so nice to me? I know the crowd you ran with in New York.”

Veronica takes a deep breath. “Because, Betty Cooper,” she starts, and her eyes land on a figure approaching them from the distance, “you are my chance to finally do something right.” Then before she can respond, Veronica yells, “Archie!”

“What are you doing?” Betty hisses, panicked. 

“If I can extend a metaphorical olive branch to the main antagonist of this school, I’m certain you can handle asking Archie Andrews to an, excuse me, Back-to-School semi-formal,” Veronica whispers. “Remember what I said: have some confidence,” she quickly adds, straightening up in time to flash Archie a smile.

“Hey,” he says, grinning. “Nice outfits.” 

“I could say the same to you,” Veronica says, nodding at his football jersey. “Very _Friday Night Lights_.” Betty is still standing next to her, frozen in mute horror, so Veronica elbows her pointedly. “Betty here has something she wants to ask you about the Back-to-School Dance.”

“Oh, uh,” Betty begins, glance flitting from Archie to Veronica and back. “I was wondering if you wanted to come…with both of us.”

Archie says, “Huh?” at the same time Veronica exclaims, “See! How easy was that?”

Then Betty’s actual question settles in, and Veronica turns to stare at her new friend, looking every bit as baffled as the boy standing in front of them. “What?”

“It’s your first dance at Riverdale,” Betty tells her, silently pleading with Veronica to go along with it. “You should have someone to go with, even if it’s just a friend.”

“I mean, I’d love to,” Veronica says, trying to figure out when exactly this conversation took such an unexpected turn. She waves a hand at Archie. “Assuming this tortured musical genius over here is okay with it.”

“Of course I am,” Archie replies right away, but his gaze lingers on Betty for a second longer than normal. “Hey, do you guys have somewhere to be?” he asks, switching gears. “Or do you have time to stop over at Pop’s for a milkshake?”

“I’d love a milkshake,” Betty says with a smile. The two of them turn to face Veronica, expectant, and she shakes her head, trying her best to seem remorseful.

“I totally forgot, I actually have some stuff to take care of,” Veronica says, the lie coming out more stilted than it would have in the past. “You two go on without me.”

“What stuff?” Betty asks her, clearly on a mission to unknowingly destroy all of Veronica’s attempts at being a better person. “You had all your forms ready when I checked the office yesterday morning. Principal Weatherbee even said—”

“I have to get a permission slip to be on the cheerleading squad,” Veronica improvises quickly, then she lets out a big fake laugh before Betty can press her further. “I’ll see you both at the dance,” she calls out over her shoulder as she walks away in the opposite direction.

She wanders back the way she came, lost in thought. She thinks she might finally understand what people say about doing good deeds leaving you warm and fuzzy inside. Besides, there’s nothing she loves more than a happy ending.

Now, if only she can find her own Darcy in a school full of Collins’ and Wickhams.

“Nice outfit,” a very sardonic, very familiar voice from behind her drawls, and Veronica gasps, spins around, and JJ himself is sitting draped across one of the bleachers, laptop balanced on his knees. “I see you’ve joined the ranks of Cheryl Blossom’s mindless drones, and it’s only your first week. Well done.”

“I see you do go to this school,” Veronica says, and her heart reindeer-prances in her chest. “I was beginning to wonder if I had dreamed the whole thing.”

“I always knew I was the stuff of dreams,” JJ replies, faux seriously. But Veronica can tell he’s fighting a smile.

“The stuff of hipsters’ nightmares, maybe,” Veronica counters, a grin breaking out despite herself. “What are you doing here? Stalking the cheerleaders?”

JJ makes a face, and he almost looks offended. “Don’t you have an inflated sense of self-importance,” he says dryly.

Veronica arches a brow. “May I remind you that you’re the one intentionally withholding your _name_ from me?” She crosses her arms over her chest. “Talk to me again about having a sense of self-importance.”

He shakes his head, obviously amused. “I’m surprised you’re still on that,” he tells her. “I assumed you would have asked someone, or, I don’t know, gone through the school records by now.”

“Oh, no, Jackson Jopson,” Veronica says, failing to keep a straight-face. “Veronica Lodge is not the kind of girl who gives up that easily.”

“I’m starting to see that,” JJ says, but there’s an almost soft fondness to his voice, and he fixes her with a stare loaded down with an intensity she can’t quite place, like she’s two steps behind. “How’s Riverdale treating you?”

“God, this place is insane,” Veronica lets out, and she feels all the pent-up energy deflate out of her. “It’s like I’m stuck in an episode of _Twin Peaks_ , but instead of the homecoming queen, it’s the star quarterback.”

He smiles, obviously pleased with her reference. It’s strange how it suddenly transforms his face, making him into someone she wishes she knew. “Every town has its secrets,” he muses.

“Mine are plastered all over the front page of _Us Weekly_ ,” Veronica says, lifting her shoulders. “I’ve got nothing left to hide.”

“The rest of us should be so lucky,” he says shortly, turns around and starts gathering up his stuff. Veronica shuffles in place, something inside her unwilling to let this conversation end yet.

“Will I see you at the semi-formal?” she asks, even if she already knows what his answer will be.

He gets to his feet, hops off the bleachers and onto the dirt track. It’s the first time they’ve ever stood face to face, and she’s struck by how much taller he is than her. “School dances are stupid,” he scoffs, then he disappears under the bleachers without waiting for a reply.

“Alright, then,” Veronica mumbles to the empty space in front of her.

—

When she gets home, her mom is sitting on one of the stools around the kitchen counter, a glass of white wine on the marble countertop.

“How was your second day?” Hermione asks her warmly, standing up and moving to greet Veronica at the door. 

“It was interesting,” Veronica says, for lack of a better word. “I made the cheerleading team,” she adds unnecessarily, holding out the skirt of her new uniform.

“That’s great, _mija_ ,” her mom replies, beaming at her. She tucks a stray strand of hair behind Veronica’s ear. “I knew you wouldn’t have a problem fitting in. Any boys I should know about?” Her eyes light up. “Have you met Fred Andrews’ son yet?”

“Yes, but Archie and I are just friends, Mom,” Veronica tells her, stepping around Hermione and grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl. “I’m pretty sure he likes Betty.” 

“Alice Cooper’s daughter?” Hermione clarifies, and Veronica detects a slight edge to her mom’s tone, but it’s gone before she can be sure. “Oh, well, that’s too bad. Is there anyone else?”

The grin that stretches across Veronica’s mouth is too wide for Hermione to ignore, and she pounces on it in a way only a mother would. “What is that?” she teases, nudging her daughter. “Tell me, who is this boy, _mija_? What’s his name?”

Veronica sighs, shakes her head. “I have no idea,” she admits, and then she walks to her room, leaving her mom to her confusion.

—

The semi-formal is held in the Riverdale High gymnasium, with the decorations consisting of pastel streamers hanging from the walls, paired with several full-blown portraits of Jason Blossom’s smouldering expression staring down at everyone from the stage.

In short, it’s not the weirdest party Veronica’s ever been to.

“Well, it’s not the Met Ball,” she comments once the three of them step inside. There’s a cardboard standee of Jason waiting near the entrance, and Veronica lifts her eyebrows, impressed. What is it with this town and hot redheads? Must be something in the water.

“Definitely not,” Archie says with a laugh, though Veronica is sure that he has no idea what she’s referring to. His eyes are trained on Betty, who Veronica had pressured into letting her hair down. Literally.

“In that case, I’m getting punch,” she tells them, detaching herself from Archie’s side. “You kids have fun without me,” she adds, mouthing, _You got this_ , at Betty as she goes.

She stands by the refreshment table at the back of the room, taking small sips from the plastic cup in her hand. From this angle, she can see Archie and Betty swaying in synch out on the dance floor, clearly deep in conversation.

“You look like you could use a dance,” someone whispers into her ear, and Veronica giggles, twists herself around and hooks her arm into Kevin’s. “I love a good fairytale ending,” he says, pressing a hand over his heart as he watches their two friends.

“I did good, didn’t I?” Veronica says, clearly proud of her handiwork. Kevin spins her around on the dance floor, the lights overhead twinkling in flashes of pink and blue. “I can see it now: Veronica Lodge, professional matchmaker.”

“Hold your horses, _Blue Jasmine_ ,” Kevin responds, and Veronica can feel him tense slightly. “I wouldn’t quit your day job if I were you.” She looks over her shoulder just in time to catch Betty pushing her way through the crowd, Archie rushing to follow her. “I have a feeling that conversation did not go well.”

Veronica steps away from Kevin, practically seething. “Archie Andrews is an idiot if he thinks he can turn my girl down,” she gripes, and then she’s moving through the crush, fighting against the sea of bodies as she tries to navigate her way to the doors.

She bursts out of the gym with all the force of a woman on a mission, the clacking of her heels echoing around the empty halls, as she walks as fast as she can to the school’s main entrance, hoping to find Archie and Betty to demand that they tell her what the hell is going on.

But when she finally reaches the double doors and shoves them open, there’s nothing in front of her except the stillness of the night, the sky a canvas of dark blue stretching out along the horizon. She stands at the top of the wide staircase that leads down to the front courtyard, tips her head back towards the darkness, dejected.

At this point, she’s not even surprised by the voice that cuts into her moment. “Trouble in paradise?”

He’s leaning against the brick wall right next to the handrail, legs crossed over each other and arms folded together. Veronica has a feeling that if they’d been living in the sixties, he would have been dressed in a trench coat, taking a healthy drag from a cigar while he waited.

“Okay,” Veronica says, marching over to him, “we have got to stop meeting like this. Do you ever announce your presence like a _normal_ person?”

JJ seems unaffected by the bite to Veronica’s tone. “I take it your master plan to get Archie and Betty together didn’t work out,” he observes. When Veronica stares at him, he shrugs. “They ran out here a few minutes before you did.”

“Great,” Veronica says, her shoulders slumping. She flops down onto the top step, her skirt billowing out behind her. “I think I messed everything up,” she admits, gaze trained on the treetops swaying in front of her.

There’s a scuffle of movement from the side, and then JJ is sitting next to her, his body radiating heat into the space between them. He’s looking straight out into the night as well, beanie slightly askew on his head.

“Archie’s an idiot,” he tells her, and there’s some form of underlying emotion present beneath his words. “But he’s not a bad person. Chances are she caught him off-guard. For a football player, the guy’s reaction time kind of sucks.”

“I—” Veronica blows out a sigh. “I wanted to do _one_ thing right for once. I’m just trying to be a better person,” she says, and it occurs to her that it’s the first time she’s ever confessed it out loud.

He hums thoughtfully, and Veronica tilts her head to the right. “Maybe becoming a better person means you should focus on yourself,” he suggests. “Instead of, I don’t know, meddling in other people’s lives.”

“You clearly don’t know me,” Veronica replies, but there’s a hint of a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. “I guess I can _try_ ,” she says, exaggerated, unwilling to admit that he might actually have a point. 

This time, he smirks at her. “You can say it,” he says, smugness coming off him in waves. “I’m a genius.”

“And so modest, too,” Veronica deadpans. “Speaking of, what are you doing here? What happened to, ‘School dances are stupid,’?” she asks him, mimicking his voice.

“They are,” he responds instantly, but she can see the tips of his ears burn slightly red. “I only wanted to see how quickly Cheryl’s incest-fest would go up in flames,” he adds off-handedly.

But there’s something in the way he twitches in place, determinedly not meeting her gaze, and Veronica’s eyebrows furrow together in thought for a minute, before she comes to a sudden realization.

“Bullshit,” she says, and he turns to her in surprise. “I have eyes, you know. You’re lying. It’s written all over your face.”

He doesn’t offer anything in response to her assessment, and there’s another pause, a brief moment of cold clarity, and then she just goes ahead and says it for him, a little more than victory filling her up with warmth. “You came here for me.”

She expects outright denial, an explanation, maybe a disbelieving scoff. But what she doesn’t expect is him taking a deep breath, letting out a long exhale, and saying, “You don’t make any sense,” like it’s something that’s been keeping him up at night. “I’ve never met anyone like you.”

There’s a bolt of heat that rolls into Veronica’s gut, lighting her up like she’s never felt before. “Okay, I give up,” she says, hands falling to her lap. “What the hell is your name? I believe I have a right to know at this point.”

“Care to make one last guess?” JJ asks her, grinning. 

“I’ve gone through almost every name in the book,” Veronica tells him, with a pause for dramatic effect. “And I’ve finally decided on…Jeremias Jeffcock.” 

There’s a beat of silence while he digests this, and then the two of them burst into laughter, the sounds of it echoing into the stillness. “God forbid.” He shakes his head. “It’s Jughead,” he finally says. “Jughead Jones.”

“Jughead Jones,” Veronica repeats, rolling his name around on her tongue like it’s a flavor she’s never tried before. “Interesting choice for a nickname.”

Jughead fixes her with a long-suffering expression. “Believe me, if you heard the real thing, you’d stick with Jughead, too.”

“I don’t suppose you’ll be willing to divulge that as well,” Veronica says, and Jughead sends her a smile.

“Maybe,” he allows, lifts a shoulder. “I’ve still got a bone to pick with you about Jane Austen.”

Veronica raises her eyebrows. “Did you change your mind on snarky lead characters in good love stories?”

“Something like that,” Jughead replies, looking right at her, and she’s suddenly pinned down underneath the weight of everything they’re not saying. 

“Good.” Veronica flicks her hair over her shoulder. “Because I hate to break it to you,” she starts, “but you would be the snarky male lead in _any_ love story.”

“I don’t think I’m in denial this time around, though,” Jughead says, soft enough that Veronica wonders if she was meant to hear it.

Before she can get a word out, a pair of long shadows fall over them from behind, and Veronica jerks her head upwards and sees Cheryl’s two bodyguards, Tina and Ginger, standing over the two of them, arms crossed with one leg cocked outwards.

“Cheryl said to find you,” Tina informs her, casting a derisive glance down at Jughead. “All River Vixens are supposed to come to her after-party.” The tone of her voice makes it clear that the invitation extends to Veronica alone.

In that moment, Veronica makes a decision. “You know what?” She pushes herself to her feet, and she’s aware of Jughead doing the same beside her. “School dances _are_ lame,” she says, while Tina and Ginger trade uneasy looks. “Tell Cheryl thanks, but no, thanks. I know where I’d rather be.”

She edges around the two of them and starts picking her way down the stairs, trying to balance on her heels. Her heart lifts when she hears a pair of footsteps moving along the pavement, running to catch up with her.

“Where are we going?” Jughead asks her, the dim lighting not enough to hide the smile on his face.

Veronica pretends to think it over, then quickly returns the gesture. “I know just the place.”

—

They talk, but mostly they argue.

He calls her an entitled heiress and she calls him a lonely drifter. He shoots her grins from across the table while she shifts her foot until it brushes against his, pretending the brief contact doesn’t send sparks shooting through her veins.

The hours fly by in a frenzy of cutting remarks softened by slow, secret smiles and shared moments of laughter. He tells her about Archie, the breakdown of their friendship over the summer, his manner resigned and a little wistful.

“And before you say anything,” Jughead says, glancing at her knowingly, “no, you’re not allowed to try and repair our friendship as another one of your pet projects.” Veronica glares at him, even as she begins making plans in her head.

But when the last of the regular patrons have gone home, she pulls out her phone, shows him the streams of hate and toxicity that weave their way even into her dreams.

Jughead scans through all of them carefully, scoffs. “Most of these people can’t even _spell_ embezzlement,” he says, dismissive. “Why believe such blatantly untrue things?”

“Because they _are_ true,” Veronica points out, determined to make him understand. “I am a rich-bitch ice princess.”

“You’re not an ice princess,” Jughead replies, and before Veronica can protest, he goes on. “There’s more warmth in you than you realize,” he says simply, like it’s a fact, something so unquestionable that Veronica believes it herself.

Filled with resolve, she removes the alert on her name, lays her phone facedown on the table. The look on Jughead’s face can only be described as proud.

She’s sure she would have leaned over the table and kissed him right then, if not for Pop suddenly setting down the milkshake she had ordered in between them. Veronica frowns, certain she’s never been so put off by the appearance of a dessert before.

It’s while she’s taking a sip from her drink that Jughead suddenly blurts out, “I hate organized sports. I think they’re fascist.” Veronica lifts her eyes to blink at him in confusion. “I’m never going to be Mr. Popular Football God,” he says, like he’s steeling himself for rejection. “So, if that’s what you want—”

“It’s not,” Veronica hurriedly jumps in, raising a hand up to stop him. “It’s not what I want. Anymore,” she adds on a whim, and a faint blush spreads across Jughead’s cheeks.

This time, he walks her back to the Pembrooke shortly before dawn breaks, and the two of them stand inches apart, facing each other while the air around them crackles with electricity, like the static that precedes a storm.

“I’ll see you around, Jughead Jones,” Veronica breathes, as if she’s trying to preserve something precious. 

It’s Jughead who steps away first, much to her disappointment. “I’ll be around,” he says, his lips twitching at the edges.

Veronica closes her eyes, and when she opens them, he’s gone.

—

Monday morning finds the entire school abuzz with the discovery of Jason’s body, while Veronica stands in the hallway with Kevin, both of them anxiously awaiting the arrival of Archie or Betty, neither of whom replied to any of Veronica’s frantic texts or calls over the remainder of the weekend.

“I mean, it’s not like they killed each other _Romeo and Juliet_ -style, right?” Kevin says, shoving books into his locker. He’s remarkably calm for someone who had discovered the remains of the dead school quarterback not three days ago.

But Kevin gets his answer five minutes later when both Archie and Betty round the corner, a lightness to their steps and a tentative softness to their glances that wasn’t initially present. Veronica feels her heart triple in size inside her chest.

Archie waves at the two of them as they pass, practically glowing with the amount of joy on his features, but Veronica grabs onto Betty’s arm, holds her back long enough to tell her, “You will be giving me copious details later on.”

Betty nods, gaze darting over to Archie. Her smile is so wide and so bright, it’s almost like she’s shining. “He told me everything, V,” she admits in a breathless whisper. “Including what happened over the summer…” She trails off, shakes her head. “We’ve got a lot to figure out, but I know we’ll get there.”

“You go, girl,” Veronica says, giving her one last squeeze. Betty smiles at her again, then walks over to where Archie is waiting for her, and the two of them disappear into the crowd.

“Well, amidst the grim realities befalling our small town, at least there are some good things left in the world,” Kevin muses, walking alongside Veronica. “Now that those two have gotten their shit together, it’s time to get you a man. I know for a fact that every boy in this school is painfully straight, so your best options are…”

But Veronica stops hearing him, stops thinking, when she catches sight of someone very familiar standing at the far end of the hall. He’s leaning against his open locker door, regarding her with a contemplative expression.

“Hold that thought,” Veronica says, raising her index finger to stop the overflow of words coming from Kevin’s mouth. Her gaze is still trained on Jughead. “That won’t be necessary.”

Kevin follows the line of her sight and his jaw drops. “Oh my God, this will be the second biggest scandal to have hit Riverdale High ever since we found out Cheryl wasn’t actually sleeping with her brother.”

“Good for you,” Veronica replies, though she’s not even really listening anymore. “Let me know how that goes.” 

She walks towards him as if in slow motion, the rest of the school melting away into a huge haze of color and sound, the intensity of his stare drawing her close to him like a gravitational pull.

Without thinking, without giving herself time to second-guess, she’s hooking her fingers into the belt loops of his jeans, and the two of them reach for each other, their lips meeting somewhere in the middle. It’s like an explosion, a frenzy, everything pouring into her at once, and she can’t imagine how she ever lived without this.

So she’s kissing a guy she barely knows, in the middle of a crowded corridor filled with the whispers of all her new peers, while the town she now lives in is plagued by a murderous killer, but, whatever. She’s a Lodge. She can do anything.

“Hi,” Jughead says when they finally break apart. The look on his face, it’s like he’s never seen anything like her in his life.

“Hi,” Veronica replies. She’s grinning at him, cheeks flushed and eyes overly bright, and she wants to float away into the brilliance of this moment.

Jughead’s voice drops down to a whisper, and he leans forward, like he’s going to tell her a secret. “Heads up, but I think people are staring at us.”

Veronica laughs, and for the first time, she realizes that she profoundly does not care what anyone else thinks. “Let them,” she says, dragging him back in for another kiss. 

Maybe there is something to be said about Riverdale after all.


End file.
